EMP Antediluvian Courage : Book 3

by S A Ison

  His jaw dropped open. Inside, the entire silo was filled with boxes and boxes of food, cans of food, diapers, toilet paper, everything. Tarps covered the stuff, and there were large metal trashcans. He walked over and opened one; inside were fifty-pound bags of flour, beans, twenty-five-pound bags of sugar.

  His legs felt wobbly. He’d done it! He’d found the stash!

  He looked at Homer and felt his eyes sting with tears. This meant life for those in town. Those who really needed it. Not just the KKK. He had to tell his grandfather. They would need to come back with several trucks, heck a whole bunch of trucks. But for now, he figured it was safe enough here.

  Only he’d known what Anderson had been carrying the day he died. No one knew he’d had food supplies in the back of his truck, and they certainly didn’t know the storage was nearby, just twelve miles from where Anderson had died.

  Alan knew that Mr. Anderson had lived on the other side of town, nowhere near this area. No one would be looking here. Alan almost giggled to himself. He left the silo, closing the door behind him, and got back in his truck, Homer beside him. He leaned over and hugged the dog and kissed the large head. Backing out and left the area quickly. He didn’t want anyone knowing he’d been here, otherwise they might snoop around.

  His heart raced with excitement and jubilation. It had been a fine day. He had a dog, and he’d found the stash. He leaned over and kissed Homer on his head once more, and scratched under the dog’s chin. He got a lick along the side of his face in return.

  ֍

  Sheriff Yates smashed his fist down on his desk. Officer Tom Learn stood before the desk, his hands in the pockets of his filthy pants. The man was looking at his dusty boots. He was covered in ash and his face was smeared.

  “Could you identify the bodies?” Yates asked.

  “No sir, they was all charred up. The whole house burned down around them,” Tom said.

  “You know if it was foul play?” Yates asked, his hands balled into tight fists. First Grady goes missing, now this. He was pretty sure there was foul play, but by whom?

  “Can’t tell, but we didn’t find no weapons. So maybe. The stocks of the guns would have burned, but not the metal, maybe melted a bit, but don’t know for sure. Any word from Grady?”

  “No. His wife said when she woke up the other morning, he wasn’t there. Said there was no sign of struggle, just looked like he got up and left. His truck was still there. Damn it!” He pounded the desk again, causing Tom to jerk.

  “Go get cleaned up and gather up the boys. We need to figure out something quick, see who else is missing. Do you know who was at Darrel’s house? Seven bodies you said, right?”

  “Yes sir, seven, and don’t know who else was at the house. There was melted poker chips on the floor, think he had a game going. Oh, and ain’t no one seen Morty, lately.”

  “Well shit. All right, see about gathering up the men. Let’s see if we can’t figure this out,” Yates said, now tired.

  “Should I tell the president?” Tom asked.

  “Hell no, and don’t call him president, ’cause he ain’t. Just go gather the men. We need to figure this out fast, before we lose more people.”

  Yates watched as Tom left the office. He let out a long sigh. The boys had been playing poker, which meant drinking. Could it have been an accident? Tom had said they were all laid around in a group; if the fire had started, they would have left the house or put it out. No, someone had surprised them and killed them. With seven men, they must have been out numbered. Could the townspeople be turning on them? He’d not be surprised if they were. People were getting desperate. Their own supplies were getting low.

  He’d had some of his men go out and hunt. But they couldn’t live off meat alone. Thankfully they had Gerhard’s produce coming in. They were due another delivery at the end of the week. That was good. Plus, they still hadn’t found Anderson’s stash. That cagey bastard had hidden it well. There was no telling where he’d put it. They’d torn his house and all the outlying buildings on his property apart. Nothing. It had all turned into a shit show.

  They hadn’t worked together with the townspeople, and by doing so had alienated them. Some goddamn great plan. He needed to talk to Audrey; they needed to come up with a better strategy, or none of them would survive the long winter. He got up and left his office. Outside the building, he took a look around.

  The streets were eerie and deserted, there were fewer people to be seen. Trashed danced along the street, which had been spotless before this mess had happened. First Vern, now Grady and Morty. Did they just bug out? There had been no clues, no bodies.

  It was a short walk to the courthouse. His frustration mounted when he saw men just sitting around.

  “Get your ass out there and look for that stash of Anderson’s. You’re doing me no good here,” he said to a short, slender man with dirty blond hair who’d been picking his teeth with a bent-out paperclip.

  The sullen man looked up. Heat filled Yates when he continued to sit there.

  “President gives the orders,” he said with a sneer.

  “Get your sorry ass out there now, before I put a bullet between your useless fucking eyes,” Yates roared, and kicked the man’s feet hard, causing the smaller man to nearly fall out of his chair. The other men jumped out of their chairs and left the courthouse. The smaller man got up, shooting Yates a look that told Yates he’d need to watch his back.

  Audrey came out of his office, face florid, food bulging out from his cheeks. Yates watched as Audrey’s beady eyes took in the scene.

  “What in tarnation is goin’ on here?” Audrey said, crumbs flying out of his mouth.

  “These people are useless, Rupert! They need to get off their asses and start looking for Anderson’s stash. We are getting seriously short on supplies. We aren’t going to make it through the winter if we don’t find them,” Yates barked, still looking at the thin man, who’d yet to leave.

  “Well goddamn it, these are my men,” Audrey said indignantly.

  “I tried ta tell him, Mr. President,” the thin man sneered, giving Sheriff Yates an eat shit look.

  “You’re just the sheriff; you need to leave my people alone and get your own people after this problem,” Audrey ordered, a fat hand coming up to wipe away the crumbs.

  Yates stood silent for a moment, looking from Audrey to the smaller thin man, who had a satisfied smirk on his face. Yates took in a deep breath, closed his eyes. He heard the man behind him snickering. Yates opened his eyes, turned around, drew his service revolver and shot the man between his eyes. He was so close to the man, he felt the warm spray of blood as the man flew back and onto the floor. Yates turned around and shot Audrey between the eyes as well.

  He turned, wiping at his face as two men came running back into the courthouse. He held the gun at them, and they immediately came to a halt. His blue eyes seemed to burn; he could feel them almost pulsing as he looked at the three men before him.

  “Who do you work for?” he asked them.

  They looked at the bodies, then the gun pointed at them, then into Yates’s eyes.

  “We work for you, Sheriff,” they said in unison.

  “Good, now get these bodies out of here. Go through this place and get every scrap of food that little bastard has been hording and take it to my office. I want you three to go through this building and look for anything useful. Any weapons, anything, and bring to my office. Do it now,” he ordered, when the men stood immobile for a long moment. They jumped to his command and went past him.

  Sheriff Yates left the courthouse and walked back to his office. It was though a weight had been lifted off his shoulders. He saw Tom, Reece Archer, and Jeff Bluemont running toward him. He held a hand up, signaling all was well.

  “We heard shots,” Tom puffed, his face pale.

  “I just cleaned house. Audrey is out, that useless tub of lard,” Yates said mildly.

  Tom looked at him, as did the other men. Then he nodded. They fol
lowed Yates to his office. All the men took a seat.

  “Here is the situation. Vern, Morty, and Grady have gone missing. I don’t know if it was foul play or if they just got the hell out of Dodge. There aren’t any bodies. What I do know is that someone has picked off quite a few of our people. Darrel Mopes and six others were killed. Not sure who was with him. I need you men to check around. Someone has seen something. Also, get people out there looking for Anderson’s stash. He had most of our supplies.”

  “I’ll get Ralph and Murphy, and we’ll see what we can do, Sheriff,” Officer Tom Learn said. He and the other men left.

  Danny Yates looked out his window, watching the men as they moved away quickly, talking rapidly. He shook his head. Small niggles of fear began to lick at him, like a small weak flame. He knew it wouldn’t take much to get a roaring fire going. He was losing control, if he’d ever had it in the first place. Could they have done something different? He just didn’t know.

  ֍

  Clay and Katie walked around the large property holding hands, enjoying the quiet and solitude. It was Clay’s turn for patrol but, as had become their custom, they went together. Neither minded the double duty; they were together, and that was all that counted. The dogs were off sniffing in the woods. It was peaceful.

  “What do you think we should do when all this is over?” Clay asked Katie, who had squatted down, looking at mushrooms.

  She looked up and smiled at him, and he could see love in her dark eyes. He couldn’t help but smile back. She had a leaf caught in her hair, her cheeks were pink, and she looked like a wild nymph in the woods.

  “I was thinking that we should move back to town,” she said.

  “Really?” Clay was surprised.

  “Once this is all done, the town is going to need a doctor. I’m not sure if anyone is left from the hospital. The people will also need a sheriff, not some corrupt madman. I think they’ll need you, Clay. You’re one of the most honest men I know.”

  “Thanks, honey, but I think, as honest as I am, I am a little one-sided when it comes to you. And you just might be blinded by my good looks and sparkling personality.” He laughed. “I guess you’re right, however. I hate to leave here, though. It has been a home and has felt like home.” He pulled her up and removed the leaf from her hair. His eyes crinkled when she stood on her tiptoes for a kiss.

  “It has felt like home, and I do hate to leave. But they won’t need us here. The town will. We can find a nice home in town. I hate to say it, but I’m sure there are a lot of abandoned homes there. We can find one and make it our own. With the supplies found, we can at least survive the winter until we can plant in spring,” she said.

  They walked for a while, each in their own thoughts. They watched as the dogs played and chased each other through the undergrowth. The distant rhythmic drumming of a woodpecker echoed off the mountain. The songs of the chickadees and several warblers reached them, their melodic refrains pleasing. Clay took a deep breath. He was sure he’d miss this place, but Katie was right. They needed to help the townspeople recover from the brutality that was forced upon them.

  Perhaps they could find a house with a little land and some woods. That would be nice. Some place Brian could run and move freely. He didn’t think the dog would like to go back to apartment living. He seemed to thrive outdoors.

  “Okay. When all this is done, we’ll find us a place, and you can set up shop at the hospital and hang out your shingle.” Clay grinned down at her, pulling her in. He felt her slender arms wrap around his waist and hugged her hard.

  “Okay, and you can set up and guard and protect us. And run the law as it should be,” Katie grinned, and kissed him.

  ֍

  Alan turned onto Walnut Street and saw a blockade ahead. It hadn’t been there earlier that morning, and his hand gripped the steering wheel. There were only two men, but they had guns and were eyeing his truck and talking excitedly between themselves. Alan looked over to his new pet.

  “I thank we need ta git. Them fellers look like they want Pop Pop’s truck,” he told Homer, who licked his face. Alan grinned and looked back at the two men; they were walking toward him.

  “Git out of that truck, son,” a tall thin man yelled from roughly thirty feet away.

  “I can’t. It’s my Pop Pop’s truck,” he yelled back.

  A short fat man laughed. “Not any more, it ain’t.”

  “That’s what I figgered,” Alan said, and put the truck in reverse and spun around impressively. Homer flew to the truck floor and Alan yelled out an apology to him. He stepped on the gas and flew away from Walnut Street. Glass shattered behind his head. He could hear gun shots, and he leaned heavily over, trying to duck out of the way. Homer was trying to scrabble back up onto the seat.

  “Stay down, Homer, or you’ll get shot by them assholes,” Alan shouted, trying to push the dog down with one hand. There were more shots, and the metallic ping from hits to the truck’s body. It didn’t take long before he was out of the area, turning down one street and then another. His heart slammed painfully in his thin chest. He patted the seat, encouraging Homer to climb back up.

  He looked in the rearview mirror and saw no sign of pursuit. He grinned at the dog and reached a hand over to pet the large head. The dog’s whip-like tail thumped on the seat. “We sure did git lucky, huh, boy?” he asked.

  Then he coughed and pain shot through his side. He looked down and was surprised to see blood on his left side. He slowed the truck and pulled to the side of the road. He shifted, saw the pool of blood on the seat, and lifted his shirt and coat. Blood slowly leaked from his body. He suddenly felt nauseous at the sight.

  “I need ta git ta Harry’s, so Dr. Katie can patch me up,” he told Homer, looking at the gas gauge. Quarter tank; he sure hoped it was enough to get him there. He pulled back on the road, increasing speed. Damn them boys anyway. He looked over at the dog, wondering if he’d die and not have a pet after all. He then thought, with sorrow, that his Pop Pop would be all alone without him.

  That made him go faster. He was getting closer. He checked the gauge again. It was down, and he wasn’t sure if he was going to make it. He’d wasted a lot of gas going slow while looking for Anderson’s stash. He had to make sure someone knew where the supplies were. He couldn’t let all that food go to waste. Too many people needed it.

  He had to slow down on the switchback curves. The things had never bothered him before, but now they ate up precious gas. Dark spots were now starting to sprinkle his peripheral vision. He knew that wasn’t good, cause he’d seen on TV that people fainted from that. Or did they die? He wasn’t sure. At least it didn’t hurt too much, just when he twisted on the curves. His eyes darted once more to the gas gauge. Lower still. Dang it, he thought.

  At least he was only a couple miles away. He held his breath as he took the last curve. It was a sharp one and he had to slow down. It hurt his side and he gritted his teeth. The truck straightened out and he could see the house up ahead. The truck began to complain, then knock and bang. Then it stopped.

  “Guess we gotta walk the rest. Come on, Homer, you’re gonna meet some good friends of mine,” he said, and slide out of the truck, his knees buckling. He caught himself on the door and pulled himself up. The seat was pooled with blood, his blood. He felt a thrill of fear rush through him. The dark spots were taking up more space around him, like scary ghouls. He took a step, then two, his legs firming up beneath him. He took hold of Homer’s scruff, afraid to let go.

  He took another step and then another. He could see people on the porch, but for some reason he couldn’t make out who they were. The spots were getting darker, but Alan forced himself to take another step, then another. He thought he was doing pretty good; his legs were moving, but he wasn’t exactly sure why his cheek was on the pavement. Homer was whining and licking his face, but he could feel his legs still walking. Then the dark spots ganged up on him and he was gone.

  ֍

  Alan blinked hi
s eyes open. Things were kind of dark around him, and he wondered if he’d overslept. Then Dr. Katie’s face came into focus and he grinned up at her, his face heating up. She sure is pretty, he thought. She smiled back down at him, and he felt his heart flutter with joy.

  “Hey, Dr. Katie,” he said. His words came out slurred. He frowned.

  “Hi, Alan, are you okay?” she asked him softly.

  “I am now.” He blushed profusely, then noticed other faces looking down at him.

  “What? What happened?” he asked, confused.

  “Looks like you were shot. You damn near bled to death,” Harry said, his voice deep and fill with worry, which was reflected in his face.

  Alan looked and saw a bag hanging from a lamp, and followed it down to a needle in his arm. Nausea gripped at him, making him giddy. He’d always hated needles, and now he was hooked up to an IV. He tried to sit up, but Dr. Katie held him down. Her hands were warm on his chest, though he felt quite cold.

  “Stay down, Alan. You lost a lot of blood. The bullet didn’t hit anything major, but it did nick a large vein,” she said.

  “What happened, Alan?” Harry asked, and Alan saw Clay behind him.

  “I found Anderson’s stash!” he said excitedly, and tried to sit up once more. Again, hands pushed him back.

  “Really? Where? And who shot you?” Clay asked.

  “I found two old rusted grain silos over on Cherry Branch Road, about twelve miles up on the left. The silos are in an overgrown field, but there ain’t no houses around,” Alan said.

  He suddenly felt nauseated. It must have shown, as Dr. Katie brought a bowl up to his face and he immediately vomited. He felt his face heat with shame. He kept his eyes closed as she wiped his face clean. Then he felt a cold glass of water pressed to his lips.

  “You okay, son?” Harry asked.

  “Yeah. Where’s Homer?” Alan asked suddenly, looking around frantically.